12
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hat night Aunt Peg phoned to ask for a favor. You might call this familiar territory. As usual, I tried to find out what she wanted before agreeing to get involved. Such reticence on my part is a survival skill of sorts. You wouldn't believe some of the harebrained ideas Aunt Peg has come up with. Nor the entirely reasonable way she has of explaining what she wants.
“This will only take an hour of your time,” she said. “Maybe two, tops.”
I carried the phone over to a chair and sat down. When Aunt Peg starts talking about the brevity of her plans, it's time to settle in for the duration.
“What do I need to do?”
“Drive down to Norwalk and have a nice chat with George Firth.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because Marian asked me to.” Not surprisingly, Aunt Peg hurried on before I could interrupt. “She's still very upset over this whole situation with Dox. Marian is not what you might call a patient woman. She wants things resolved now, right this minute if possible.” Gee, I thought. I guessed that meant that Marian Firth and my Aunt Peg had more in common than their love of dogs.
“Of course, Marian can't talk to George herself. If there was anything at all amicable about their divorce this never would have happened in the first place. She needs somebody objective to intervene, someone who can convince George of the error of his ways.”
“Why me?” I asked. I may also have rolled my eyes toward the heavens as I uttered this plaintive cry.
I was speaking rhetorically, but Aunt Peg, who thankfully couldn't see the gesture, chose to answer. “I'd be happy to go see George myself, but there's a problem with that. According to Marian, the man works all week and golfs on Sundays. So the only day there's a hope of catching him when he might be receptive to listening is Saturday. As you well know, this Saturday I'll be judging at the Twin Forks dog show. Of course Marian understood that I couldn't be in two places at once, so she was quite delighted when I volunteered you to take my place.”
“Aunt Peg, you're only judging one breed, and Poodles are scheduled for the afternoon. The dog show is an hour away; you'll have your whole morning free.”
My aunt's silence rebuked me for pointing out the obvious. “Technically that's true. But you know how I get before an assignment. . . .”
“Nervous?”
“Justifiably concerned about doing a good job.” Her tone was prim. “I'd hate to be distracted at a crucial time. And what if I got stuck in traffic on the way to the showground? What if I missed my assignment altogether?”
Not likely, considering that Aunt Peg had made a habit of arriving hours early for the judging assignments she'd performed thus far. Since I suffered similar nerves when I went in the ring, however, I decided not to press the issue.
“I don't know what makes you think I'd be any good at this,” I said instead. “I don't even know George Firth. Why would he listen to anything I have to say?”
“Because you'll be the voice of reason. Perhaps he has no idea what a terrible thing he did by throwing poor little Dox out into the world to fend for himself. Once he's been made to understand where he went wrong, I've no doubt you'll be able to convince him to retract his decision.”
Hadn't I solved this problem once already? I wondered. Or maybe even twice, considering that the puppy in question, far from fending for himself in the cold, cruel world, was at that moment asleep quite comfortably under my kitchen table.
“Has it occurred to you that that may be a bad idea?” I asked. “The way things stand now, Marian is assured of having a chance to bid on the puppy at the auction. If George changes his mind and takes Dox back, who knows what sort of disposal scheme he'll come up with next?”
“Don't worry about that,” said Aunt Peg, “Marian has a plan. I must say, it sounds rather ingenious to me”
Oh Good Lord. Aunt Peg with an idea was bad enough. Peg and Marian hatching up schemes together was definitely more than I could handle.
“Don't tell me,” I said. “I don't even want to know.”
“But you will go and talk to George?”
I'd been planning to go to the dog show myself. Not to show Eve, of course; with Aunt Peg judging, we were ineligible. But I'd hoped to hook up with Sam and spend the day spectating, watching some of the other interesting breeds we never got a chance to see when we were busy exhibiting.
On the other hand, as I'd pointed out to Peg, the show was not that far away. With luck, I could see George Saturday morning and still be in northern New Jersey by early afternoon.
“I guess I can,” I said. “Davey will be with Bob. He's going to have a riding lesson on Willow. Do you happen to have George's phone number? I'll call and see if I can set something up.”
Of course she did. Peg was nothing if not always prepared. Boy Scouts could learn volumes by following my aunt around. She read me the number, and I jotted it down.
“There's something else I wanted to talk to you about,” I said. “A couple of strange things have been happening around here.”
“Strange?” Her voice perked up. Aunt Peg likes strange. “Like what?”
I explained about the lights being on when I got home from the dog show. I told her about Jill Prescott, who apparently had no intention of giving up in her quest to make both of us famous. Lastly, I related the adventure I'd had the night before.
Somehow, laying out the bare facts in the light of day made them seem a good deal less threatening than they had at the time. Frightened as I'd been in the middle of the night, it was hard to recapture that emotion in the retelling.
Even Aunt Peg, who loves a good spooky story, was singularly unimpressed. “It sounds to me like you need a good electrician. How old is that house anyway? Maybe your wiring has begun to go.”
“It was built in the fifties, but I don't think the wiring's the problem. And I don't need an electrician to tell me when my back door's unlocked.”
“You said yourself you might have been responsible for that oversight,” Aunt Peg pointed out. “And as for Jill Prescott, if she's bothering you, why don't you just tell her to get lost?”
“I have, several times. She doesn't pay any attention.”
Aunt Peg harrumphed. When she says something, people sit up and take notice. It's hard for her to understand that that's a gift not all of us share.
“Don't worry,” she said briskly. “Sooner or later, Jill will simply get bored with the game she's playing and give up. In the meantime, Dox's dilemma needs to take precedence.”
You can see why it's a good thing my aunt never had children.
“How is the puppy doing, by the way? Is he fitting in well?”
“Just fine.” Dox wasn't the only one under the table. Actually all three dogs were sacked out on the floor around me. The little Dachshund was curled in a small ball, the curve of his back nestled against Faith's long legs. “The Poodles have accepted him like a long lost brother.”
“Excellent. You will let me know how things turn out, won't you?”
Certainly, Herr Generale. Her wish was my command.
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Saturday morning, I awoke to the sound of rain lashing against the side of the house. I'd left my bedroom window open a crack, and the sheer curtains billowed inward, propelled by the force of a gusting wind. Around here, April is one of those months where you hope for the best but often end up admitting that it really isn't spring just yet. Though the dog show was being held indoors, I imagined that Davey's plans for the day had probably been placed on hold.
I was due at George Firth's condominium in Norwalk at ten. We'd spoken briefly on the phone, and I'd explained only that I needed some further information regarding his donation to the benefit. I could take Davey with me if I had to, but first I needed to confirm my son's arrangementsâor lack thereofâwith Bob. Before I got a chance to call my ex-husband, however, he surprised me by showing up.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as he took off his jacket and shook it out, splattering a spray of raindrops around the hallway.
“Picking up Davey. That was the plan, right?”
“It was. But I thought he was going to have a riding lesson. Surely nobody rides in weather like this.”
“No, but Pam said to go ahead and bring him over to the farm, anyway. She says there are plenty of other things he can learn to do to care for his pony. Who knows?” Bob grinned. “Maybe she'll let him muck a few stalls.”
With Davey's schedule back in place, my life became a little less complicated. I told Bob I'd stop by and pick Davey up after the show and explained to the dogs that they were going to be in for a tough day as I couldn't take all three of them to either George's condo or the dog show.
Faith looked resigned. Eve did her best to make me feel guilty about the less than perfect arrangement. Dox didn't have a clue. He was just happy to get the biscuit I gave him when I locked him in his crate. Ah, the innocence of youth.
In contrast to his ex-wife, whose fortunes seemed to have declined with the divorce, George Firth was obviously doing just fine. His careful directions led me to an upscale condominium cluster down by the shore in Norwalk. A guard at the front gate called to check whether I was expected, then waved me in.
The buildings were white stucco, clean and streamlined in appearance. None were more than three stories high, and they wrapped around a colorful harbor, offering views out onto the Long Island Sound. Even this early in the year several boats were already out of storage and bobbing in their moorings as the Sound rose and fell, whipped by the driving rain. On a sunny day, the vista must have been magnificent.
Alerted to my arrival by the guard, George was waiting on the third-story landing outside his apartment when I pulled up. He introduced himself as I climbed the stairs and held out a hand when I reached the landing. Marian had seemed wan and fragile; her ex-husband was robust. Not particularly tall, but built on a heavy frame, he had thick features and broad fleshy hands. George's smile was warm and friendly, though, as he ushered me into his home.
I stepped inside the foyer and stopped, staring in rapt surprise at the windows that ran the length of the living room. The view was breathtaking. Sliding glass doors opened out onto a balcony that seemed to hang out over the water. The Sound looked close enough to reach out and touch.
“Great, isn't it?” George took my slicker and hung it over the back of a chair to dry. “That's why I bought the place. First time you see that view, it hits you right between the eyes. I see it every day and it still gets to me.”
“It's gorgeous.” Drawn irresistibly, I walked over to the window and gazed out. “Do you have a boat?”
“Not yet. I'm hoping to start shopping around this summer. I don't want to seem abrupt, but if you don't mind, I'm in kind of a time crunch here. You said on the phone that you needed some information . . . ?”
“Right.” Reluctantly, I turned to face the room. “It's about the Dachshund puppy you donated to Peter Donovan's charity auction to benefit the Stamford Outreach programâ”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” George looked bored. And impatient. “What do you need to know?”
“We've heard from your ex-wifeâ”
“Marian?” His interest suddenly returned. “She doesn't have anything to do with this. That puppy is mine, I'm free to do anything I want with it.”
“I'm sure you are. But as it happens, auction organizers have become concerned about the viability of offering a live animal as one of the prizesâ”
“Mr. Donovan didn't mention any concerns when I spoke with him about my donation. In fact, he seemed to think the whole thing was a rather nifty idea.”
Nifty?
George Firth didn't look old enough to use words that had last been in vogue in the fifties. I wondered if his vocabulary had had anything to do with the reason Marian had divorced him. Or maybe it was that time crunch thing.
“Yes, well, Mr. Donovan has since been in touch with several dog breeders who have registered an objection to the proceedingsâ”
“Marian put them up to it, didn't she?” George scowled. With his heavy jowls and wide body, he looked like a Bullmastiff in a serious snit. “That's what this is all about. All those dog people know each other, and they stick together, too.” He peered at me from beneath bushy brows. “I guess that means you're one of them?”
“Well, yes, but that's not why I'm hereâ”
“I assume you've spoken to my ex-wife?” Before I could reply, George was already moving on. “I'm sure she told you her side of the story. I'm not the kind of guy to go airing my dirty laundry in public, but since you're already in the middle of this, let's lay out a few facts.
“Number one, Marian left me. I was perfectly happy with the status quo, she was the one who wanted out. So if she's changed her mind now about the way things turned out, I hardly see how that can be my fault, can you?”
“No, butâ”
“Number two, this arrangement with the dogs was perfectly legal. Marian wanted to keep all the dogs, even the ones that were worth money, that might have been considered assets from the marriage.”
I'd been in the dog show world long enough to know that very few dogs, even top winning ones, were worth enough money to be viewed as assets. George, however, was on a roll.
“The judge decided to let things go her way. Marian retained sole ownership of all the dogs. All I got . . .” He paused, then repeated the phrase for emphasis, “
All I got
was the promise of one puppy to be delivered sometime in the future.”